


Posession

by Calliopy



Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Adventure, Dorn Without Plot, Drow, Evil Charname, F/M, Fantasy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn With Plot, Romance, dragon slaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:32:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calliopy/pseuds/Calliopy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vex is a capricious, violent, reckless drow half-goddess with serious attitude issues. She's more than happy slaughtering her way across Faerun, and she's not too worried about the periodic murderous rages which her companions seem to be slightly concerned over. </p><p>She's got her sights set on one thing she doesn't have, though, and she can afford to play the long game on her revenge. She's about ready to find something fun to do, something to kill, something which is a challenge and a novelty, and just maybe someone to share it with her, if she can get over her pride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Posession

**Author's Note:**

> Shaydh and Fulcrumisthebomb are going to be so disappointed with me because this is M/F, but hey, ladyspawns need Dorn love too, and I do love both of them. So this is dedicated aggressively to the pair of them. I hope someone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed Valdir and Sorn. 
> 
> Beta read, but not well.

Vex was bored. Bored, bored, bored.

Every time she turned around, someone asked for her help. She couldn’t fathom why. It wasn’t as if she had a history of being particularly helpful. The last simpering peasant who had had the audacity to bleat at her about the terrible condition of some distant village had ended up less a shirt, several gold and very nearly one eye, until Viconia had hauled her back and pointed out that they couldn’t afford more attempted arrests. The whole “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” thing had seemed like a free ticket to her wildest dreams – who would believe the Hero had anything other than noble reasons, after all? – but had rapidly become an irritation, and then a chore. The elves of Suldanessellar must have been desperate indeed to seek aid from a woman of her nature, even allowing for their hunting down of the mage into the bargain.

And Vex _would_ hunt him down.

The Underdark had been entertaining enough, she supposed, filled with the twisted words from smiling faces which were second nature to her and enough bloodshed to sate all but the most unbalanced mind. Prior to that, the asylum had been a delightfully twisted puzzle, of the kind she adored, despite the sorcerer’s snide comments about her mental state, and despite- no. Not despite that.

The Shadow Thieves had been an interesting diversion for a while, with the plots and the vampires and the general chaos she loved to spin around her - and the charming Bloodscalp had almost been worth not assassinating. But no, ultimately, they had pressed and pushed and made yet more demands on her time. They had offered her a little side chapter, as if it was a great honour to be allowed to run their petty errands. She had had to laugh in their gaping faces. Why would Vex, infamous, powerful, half-goddess daughter of a dead god, want the tedious monotony of running their little safehouse? Not even a whole city!

She had bigger plans. 

Right here and now, though, those plans mostly involved staying alive long enough to reduce the soul-shattering – hah, _soul_ -shattering - boredom of her current life. She could feel the eyes on her in the cheap inn, and not just the curious or wary stares which followed her like shadows everywhere. Any other day she would have followed the gazes back to their source, thrown a knife, blown a kiss and a grin, but she was weary to her bones in a way no whole woman would ever know and her head ached fiercely. Still, she maintained enough of her usual flair to link her hands behind her head, close her eyes and tilt back on her chair, crossing her legs at the ankles as she rested her feet insouciantly on the table.

_< You are drawing attention to yourself again.>_

It took her a moment to switch languages, as it always did when Viconia spoke to her. Once she sorted it out, she blinked, then grinned lazily.

_< And why would I not want to do that, sister mine?>_

The taller drow woman’s lip curled in a half-smile, amused as she continued calmly sorting through potions. _< I cannot think why I thought you would think otherwise, but I would just as soon not end up at the hands of a mob again. Is there no other outlet for your nervous energy?>_

 _< Nervous implies fear, darling. I prefer to think of it as readiness> _Vex’s voice was bland, her face amused, but her eyes flickered sideways to Dorn’s imposing figure, fully absorbed in cleaning a greatsword on the tabletop, oh-so-tantalisingly close, and yet so far. Viconia’s eyes followed.

_< Ah. Of course. That explains it.>_

A hot flare of irritation, coupled with a stab of pain form her head, flashed through her, making the edges of her vision red. _< Nothing explains nothing.>_ She snapped. _< Keep your tongue behind your teeth where it belongs before I rip it out.> _

The other woman snorted, but returned to her potion bottles. Vex glared at her for a moment, just long enough to show that she was doing it because she wanted to, then pulled her legs back and settled them under the table into the half-orc’s lap. He grunted in surprise, pausing in his task to glance at her. She gave him that same gem-brilliant grin before settling her head back onto her hands and closing her eyes. He regarded her for a moment stoically, then grunted again, and returned to his weapon.

 _< How charming> _The drawl from the other side of the table cut across her private reverie of those battle-scarred hands sliding up her thighs. _< Not to criticise, but you really ought to select a better class of mate than that hulking half-breed.> _ 

She didn’t even open her eyes. _< Shut it, male.>_

_< Oh, you don’t even remotely pull that off, my ridiculous rogue. Besides, mightier matrons than you have tried and failed to silence my fabulous wit.>_

She chuckled softly, wriggling her feet against the blackguard’s thigh to see if she could get a reaction. Probably not, the thickness of his armour was ridiculous.

The server came and cautiously placed down pitchers of ale and carafes of wine, glancing uneasily sidelong at the members of their little group – the drinks would be good, she knew. Baeloth had a way of ensuring the best the inns had. Perhaps she could persuade Dorn to drink enough to loosen up a little. He had barely spoken to her since the night under Spellhold which had left her shaky and breathless, with dark lines scored down her back. She still held vivid memories of his warm weight between her hips, calloused fingers dug into her skin, hot breath and sharp teeth on her neck and shoulder sending lightning waves of heat from her jaw to her belly. 

She thought she had seen something like reverence in his face when she had woken up screaming at them to run. The sight of him half-naked, towering over her with his sword raised as the slayer had ripped and shredded its way out of her skin lit almost as much desire in her for him as it did fear, but it seemed now that what she had gained in a worshiper, she had lost in a lover. She would much have preferred both.

The server finished collecting up the last few empties. She shifted her foot against Dorn’s leg again, sliding her sole subtly up the inside of his thigh. His hands never paused in his task. Did she imagine the hitch in his breathing, the darkening of his eyes?

“Drow scum.”

It was a soft mutter, under the server’s breath as he turned, but to the keen hearing of the three drow present it might as well have been a battle cry. The sound of shattering glass knifed through the idle chatter of the inn as the tray clattered to the floor. In less than a second, the assassin had spun off her chair and had one fist balled in the unfortunate man’s shirt. The other held the tip of a blade hooked between his lips, stretching the corner of his mouth and scraping uncomfortably against his teeth.

“ _What_ did you call me?”

Her tone was pleasant and conversational in the sudden silence, but her eyes in his face were hot and unhinged. Waves of red and black pulsed around the corners of her vision; furious heat coiled in her belly. He whimpered as she pushed the knife hard against his cheek and she grinned like Cyric. The urge rose up in her to _cut_ him, to _slice_ into his cheek and _taste_ hot iron, and hear him _screaming_ like a prayer, to feel his pulse ebb against her, to _cutslicefeeltastehotandfuriousandwetandslick-_

She took her hand from his shirt and wrapped it lovingly around the back of his head in the sudden, shocking silence, unaware of the creak of hands on weapons or the frozen stances of her companions behind her. She pressed the blade in harder, the scent of the blood welling up to trickle down his chin mixing with the scent of _fear._

_“Say it again.”_

Her voice slipped between her lips in a low hiss. Behind her, Viconia glanced at Hexxat, coiled like a snake and ready to spring, at Baeloth, already drawing in the shape of some spell, at Dorn, shifting his weight subtly away from the table, ready to burst into motion. Violence bubbled in the air.

“Vechsan! Vex!” She snapped.

The man’s desperate, whimpering sobs were the only sound in the inn, but Viconia was close enough to see Vex freeze. She drew in a shuddering breath, and stayed the motion of the knife. But she didn’t pull away. Viconia could see her shoulder heaving with laboured breaths, eyes still on the face of the dead man walking. From the side they were lit with a fey light, almost gold, a far cry from their usual pale grey.

“Vex, stop.” She snapped again, mind racing. “There will be time enough for this another day with a more worthy prey.”

“ _Why?_ ” Her voice was raw, and strained, tension in the line of her shoulders. “Why _not_? _Usstan ssinssrin ulu_ -”

A hissing crack shattered the silence, and she was cut off mid-sentence by the bolt of energy which scythed past Viconia’s shoulder, slamming into her back between her shoulder blades. Her body bowed as if struck by lightning, and the server let out a strangled sob of relief as the knife clattered to the floorboards. She sunk to her knees, eyelids fluttering, shock on her face.

The moment the knife dropped from her fingers, room exploded into action. Patrons dropped to the floor or crawled under tables as missiles flew in all directions across the room. Viconia lunged for Vex as Hexxat tumbled past her, lithe and graceful as she snapped the neck of a guardsman. The assassin lay unconscious on the ground, breathing shallowly. Viconia glanced back over her shoulder to see Baeloth throwing pulses of energy at an unfortunate dwarf who looked to have just been in the inn for a drink.

 _< Well?>_ He snapped. _< Don’t just stand there, get her!>_

Viconia swore under her breath in drow.

“Get the blackguard! I can’t carry her.”

“Make it quick, darling.” Hexxat flowed past her again in the other direction with a spray of gore strangely at odds with her fluid motion. “Someone called the big boys.”

Sure enough, moments later the door slammed back against the wall and a squad of flaming fist waded into the battle. Fortunately for the group, the melee had escalated well past the point of clear sides into a general roiling brawl. Viconia tossed a confusion spell into the fray for good measure, relying on the natural resistance of her companions to minimise the damage, then threw a sanctuary up around herself and Vex.

“Blackguard!” She screamed.

In moments, Dorn was beside her, breathing hard but steadily. She dismissed the sanctuary as he reached down to lift the slim woman up one-handed, tossing her unceremoniously over one shoulder. She called for the others, but Hexxat was already tripping the broken lock on the closest exit, and with that they were running again, away into the night, with the unconscious Bhaalspawn draped over the Blackguard’s shoulder.

-

They made it out of the city with little further trouble. The brawl in the inn drew more people in out of curiosity or opportunity, and those who walked away were of little interest, even accounting for the hooded faces and the unconscious woman draped over Dorn. By tomorrow, their faces - or at least, Vex’s face - would be plastered all over the city gates and walls, but for tonight, they could rest easy, secure in the knowledge that their presence would be no more noticed than usual. They made out through the city gates, walking quickly, but casually, and headed out along the road into the safety of trees and farmland.

“Does she live?” Hexxat murmured, once they were out of earshot of the walls.

“Of course she lives.” Snapped Viconia. “Do you see her turned to dust and blowing away on the wind?”

“A simple stun glyph, nothing more.” Confirmed Baeloth, eyeing the assassin’s swaying arms as they hung down the half-orc’s back. “Although I must point out that ending the child of a god, even whilst unconscious, must yield some rewards, don’t you think?”

Viconia relaxed a little. Discussions of backstabbing and murder. This was much more comfortable ground than a soulless, half-crazy, half-goddess, half way to losing her mind.

 “Ending this particular godchild will result in no more ‘entertainment’ for you.” She retorted.

“And far fewer routes to power.” Rumbled Dorn. “If you wish to murder a Bhaalspawn for your own ends, choose one whose loss will not impact on my plans.” He shifted her to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and Baeloth took care to note of how his fingers wrapped needlessly around the top of her thigh.

They were half an hour out from the brawl when she groaned and opened her eyes. The world spun and turned around her, disorienting and nauseating.

“Oh, Gods.” She slurred. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Do and you will wish you hadn’t.”

Dorn’s voice, and she couldn’t work out where it was coming from. She tried to push herself up on her hands, and failed when she found the surface beneath her was vertical and moving as she did.

“What the-?” She succeeded in pushing herself onto her elbows and peered groggily around. “Put me _down_.”

He ignored her, and carried on walking, although his lips might have twitched into a faint smile. She twisted irritably and lashed a foot at him, then yelped as her booted foot hit solid metal. He just barely resisted the temptation to slap her rear, only stopping at the thought of the smug grin it would earn him from the sorcerer. She flailed ineffectually at him for a while, then settled into a moody sulk when she failed to free herself, pointedly ignoring the smirks and sniggers from the others.

Before long, they found a spot to make camp, a copse of trees sheltered on all sides by the hills. Packs were dropped and Hexxat had sauntered off to find wood for a fire, when she hammered on his back.

“Now, put me down.”

He heaved his shoulder and dropped her. She heard snickers as she landed in a graceless sprawl of limbs and tried to roll onto her feet, but her aching head and bones prevented her from doing anything but flop uselessly onto her back. She snarled irritably.

“I swear, one night I will cut your throat whilst you sleep.”

He looked down at her, prone and useless and still spitting venom. “Hrmm.” His face was impassive. “You are vastly irritating, godchild. Has anyone ever told you this?”

She cackled from her position on the floor. “Ooh. Talk dirty to me.”

He paused for a moment with something unidentifiable on his face, then snorted and turned back to the others. She lay there on her back waiting for the stars to stop spinning overhead and murmuring to herself.

_< Oh, I am going to climb that man like a tree.>_

A snort of laughter from the direction of the camp told her that she had not been quite as quiet as she had intended. After a moment, she pushed herself up onto her knees and managed to stumble over to where Viconia and Hexxat were building up a fire. Viconia glanced up at her as she approached.

_< Next time you feel the need to follow the call of your sire, perhaps you could choose to do so in less restricted quarters.>_

The priestess’ voice was dry, but there was a note of concern behind her words. Faint as it was, it stood starkly out in a language never designed for the tone. Irritation flashed in her chest again, hot and sharp, with another knife of pain driven into her skull. She gritted her teeth.

 _< The man was nothing.>_ She responded, forcing the sharp retort down, knowing that she had only the good will of her companions to thank for her survival. _< It was not the call of my sire, merely a lesson in respect.>_

“Darlings, last time you so rudely excluded us from the conversation it ended with a brawl and us forced to flee the city. Please do let us know when you decide to learn from your mistakes.” Hexxat’s dry voice drifted across the susurrating conversation as life crackled into the dry wood.

“Our fearsome female believes she still holds sway over her sire’s influence.” Supplied Baeloth. “I wonder how long she will be able to maintain this delusion to herself.”

Vex glared at him, then glanced at Dorn, sitting stoically with his elbows rested on his knees, gazing into the fire. He was either unaware of her or ignoring her presence. Was he thinking of her slayer form? Wondering how close it was to the surface?

Vex was unaccustomed to defeat, and she intended to keep it that way, but she could not deny the pull of the blood and the ever-present rage, dark red and pulsing, a sullen pressure under her skin. She had no compunctions about slaughtering those who would bar her from her capricious whims, but there were stakes here. There were things to lose. If she submerged herself, slipped under the rolling crimson surface of her fury, could she lose _her_ followers? _Her_ destiny?

The problem bore thinking on, at least. She was not used to introspection beyond that necessary to instigate webs of intrigue, but much as she wanted the power - and she _would_ get it - she could afford to play the long game. There was no sense in losing that which she already possessed in search of something new, when both could be in her grasp.

Besides. He looked at her with those hot, dark eyes and there was power there too, of another kind. Power which made heat flash through her chest, her belly, her hips. And it was fiercely, powerfully attractive. The raw heat of his muscles under her belly and around her legs as he carried her over his shoulder like a child almost made her giddier than the spell.

She puffed out a breath and stretched her arms over her head, working the knots out of her spine, and noticed with some satisfaction how his eyes darkened as they slid over her form.

“Very well, then.” She said. “Let us ignore the evidence of all our senses, and decide that this new ‘ _instability’_ is oh so very uncharacter- _is_ -tic. May I propose a temporary solution?”

They leaned forward, all speculative curiosity and she basked in their attention, the heady power of their obeisance bringing new energy to her weary bones and aching head.

 _“Dalninil?”_ Murmured Viconia. “We are all ears.”

“Let us find an outlet for this ‘new’ bloodlust.” She spun the word out sarcastically, playing to her audience. “Let us find someone worthy of being crushed. The vampire bitch bores me, and the elves offend my senses. I tire of skittering around after them like a good little lost lamb. Why should we not find a more… entertaining foe?”

They were hanging on her She grinned, and the fire reflected in her pale eyes.

“Let us find someone worth slaughtering.”

-

The coolness of the corridor was a welcome relief for surface-blind eyes. Vex extinguished torches as she went for the pure fun of it, and padded along the corridor to the cave. And there it was, right where the dear man had said it would be.  She ghosted back up to the storeroom, flashing hand signals before remembering that only half of the group could understand her.

“Well?” Dorn’s solid form loomed up behind her in the blackness, and the strength radiating from him briefly made her breath hitch, but she rallied magnificently, stretching her arms over her head in a catlike display of self-assurance.

“Our dear Lord Firkraag sits all alone in such a _large_ cavern,” She murmured. “Such a _huge_ cavern, with _so_ much space for such tiny man. Intriguing, don’t you think?”

“Hrmm. So it’s true then.” He rumbled. “A dragon. A worthy foe indeed.”

“And a magic-repelling one.” Spat Baeloth. “I still fail to see how this will help my- pardon me, _our_ goals.”

“If you cannot anticipate the rewards in slaying a dragon, then you are as foolish as you appear.” Came Hexxat’s drawl. “Potions and spells, my darlings. This will be a delight.”

Soon after, they strolled into his lair, crackling with magic and drawn weapons. He had sensed them coming, and waited for them patiently, as only the ageless can.

“Welcome.” His voice was a deep boom, echoing in the cavern. “You have come as I wanted.” He paused, looking them over. “But where is the god-child? I do not see her among you.”

“Forgive us, my fearsome creature.” The sorcerer spread his arms in an expansive shrug. “Vechsan is not herself at present. We were forced to restrict her movements lest she become a hazard to – well, ourselves.”

“Hmph.” The dragon’s snort blew warm air over the party. “No matter. It has been an interesting game, but to tell the truth, I tire of it. She will make her way to me one way or the other. Perhaps by ending her companions, my goals will be hastened.”

“Goals?” Viconia’s rich voice rolled across the cavern. “What goals are these? Why would you wish to speak with her?”

“Oh, really, now.” The disdain in the cultured voice was almost palpable. “You believe that I will simply sit here and give a detailed acco-“

From her perch between two stalactites in the cavernous ceiling, Vex dropped. The dragon’s neck whipped around, spell fires rippling over scales as his teeth snapped in the air, missing her by inches. The rope would around her leg snapped taught as knives flew from both palms, flying true towards an eye and a wing, and then she was laughing and falling and sliding over scales and groping for her blades as painfully bright lights exploded in her eyes. She kept her balance as best she could and hung on, flattening herself to the beast’s back as she inched towards its neck.

It seemed to take forever, creeping and clinging hand over painstaking hand, cutting her palms and fingers on the edge of red scales as the serpentine neck whiplashed around, roiling and churning under her belly. She heard the battle raging below her as she climbed and gripped and edged her way up - the cries and the snarls and the arcane words and the crackling booms of magic.

One heavily enchanted knife had struck true and punctured a hole in the beast’s wing. It lurched and stumbled as it moved and she shrieked out half a triumphant cry as her blood-smeared fingers gripped horns and ears.

The dragon shook its head furiously to dislodge her, but she clung on like grim death, digging knees and toes into the uneven armoured surface. With one hand, she fumbled for her sword, slotting it awkwardly between the scales at the back of the neck, working it methodically through to the flesh beneath. At last she felt it catch in something soft, and with a vicious grin and all the strength she could muster, she drove the blade as hard as she could into the back of the great beast’s skull.

Hot gouts of blood spurted across her neck and cheek, swathing her in crimson, but she barely noticed next to the intensity of the dragon’s shrieking roar and the spasmodic writhing of its neck. She cried out at the pain in her sensitive ears, unconsciously covering them with her hands at the same time as it coiled its neck almost fully over, dumping her to the ground.

She landed with a huff of expelled air not far from its shifting talons, just barely rolling to one side to avoid certain death by crushing. She pushed herself bonelessly back up onto her feet, and _then_ , oh, _then_ her heart skipped as she saw him. He moved under and between those claws with a surefooted grace, slamming his sword into shattered scales with raw strength, and wrenching it through the soft leather of its underbelly. Her heightened senses could make out the muscles moving and straining beneath his armour; he danced between the dragon’s talons with an achingly beautiful precision, making her pulse flutter and her knees weak, making her want to press him to the floor and trace the lines of his form with her hands and her teeth. The adrenaline still burned in her veins, but his practised twist as he hamstrung the great beast’s hind paw sent fluttering, wanting, _heat_ through her belly and raised chills on her skin. _Her_ blackguard, in all his glory.

The dragon was dying by inches. Her blade had found a vein, or maybe a nerve, it lurched and staggered around, all four feet skittering across the gore-soaked floor. She came to her senses as Dorn darted back, and the others fled. The great head was thrown back with a mighty roar, then rolled down, seemingly in slow motion, as the knees gave way and the momentum carried the enormous body across the floor, and there was nothing for it but to run and dodge and dive out of the way, until it came to a crashing halt and the beast was no more.

For several long moments, there was nothing but the echoes of shifting rubble and metal on stone. Her flushed face stared up breathlessly at the great beast’s corpse, momentarily awed by the sheer weight of what they had accomplished. Slowly, surely, the gleeful sense of invulnerability sent a fierce recklessness through her chest, and a low, throaty chuckle bubbled up from her throat. They turned to look at her as she spread her arms and let the intoxicating power wrap around her, voice rising and reflecting from the walls. It built and split and multiplied, amplified by the echoes of the cavern, swirling up in layers of sound, until they stared at her, awestruck, and the rippling sound of her laughter was thick in the air. 

-

The party scattered to find what they could take. His chestpiece was dented and he had stripped out of it. She watched him as he crouched to examine the body. The heady, reckless high of the battle still swirled in her, heightening her senses and filling her to the brim. She traced the lines of his body with her eyes, all lean, hard planes and deliciously powerful frame, and strength and solidity, and made a decision.

She shrugged out of her own meagre armour and paced up behind him, stopping just shy of body contact, running her fingers lightly over his shoulder to the nape of his neck.

“I told you it would work.” She murmured, noting with some satisfaction how his skin formed goosebumps when she touched it.

“A victory indeed.” He replied, glancing back at her. He was keenly aware of her presence behind him, gore plastering her thin shirt to her chest. The heat from her skin warmed his back; the heady, musky scent of her caught his nose. Her fingertips played across the back of his neck, slipping into his hair, sliding her nails deliciously up the back of his scalp, and the catch of his breath in the back of his throat sent pleasing shivers over her skin.

“A single powerful foe vanquished is better than a thousand lesser foes. Just as a single skilled ally is better than a thousand lackwits. Would you not agree?” She continued.

“Hrmm.” She felt the vibration of his answering sound as she moved closer, leaning down to lay her chest and belly along his back, feeling the heat of his body, smelling sweat and raw earth. She draped her arms over his shoulders, leaning forward so her lips were a hair’s breadth from the sensitive tip of his ear. He shifted slightly to take her weight with a sigh, sending a twist through her belly as he brushed her fingers with his own.

“Taste it.” She murmured, and her fingers were pressed gently, tauntingly against his lips, slick with her blood and the dragon’s. He felt her hot breath on his ear as her lips brushed, maddeningly light, against the tip. “Taste victory. Taste power.”

His breath hitched and his lips parted to catch her fingers between them. His tongue brushed her fingertips, buckling her knees, leaving her weak and shivery. A sigh escaped her lips, ghosting warmly across his ear and she pressed hard into his back, moulding herself against the hard muscle, willing herself to remain in control, but eager, oh so eager to feel his skin on hers.

She did not have long to wait. With a snarl, he twisted and caught her by her arm, dragging her half over his shoulder and across his lap. She might have slipped from his grasp easily – she could not hope to remotely match the strength of his grip on her arm, but she was quicker by a margin – had the raw power in the gesture not thrilled her to her core. A gasp slipped from her throat as his fingers knotted tight into her hair, wrenching her face up to his as she sprawled across his lap, twisting her body to press against his. His fingers dug painfully hard into her scalp and her wrist as he studied her face minutely from inches away.

“What game are you playing now, woman?” He muttered, as if to himself. She did not respond, so intoxicated by his closeness, fascinated by the sensation of the smooth muscle of his chest and his steadily pounding heartbeat in her ribs and belly. The crooked mouth that hovered so tauntingly close to hers, framed with those fierce tusks, was even softer than she had remembered; she was close enough to see flecks of other colours in irises so dark they were almost black, to read the _ssinssrigg_ written in them for _her_. She ran the nails of her free hand down his side, and he felt her lips curl into a smile.

“What game would you like to play?” She teased, then yelped as the fingers wrapped in her hair tightened and jerked.

“Do not toy with me, drow.” His voice _seethed_ and for a moment she thought he might break her, so fierce was he. “Whom you choose to bed is your concern, but I will not be a plaything for your entertainment.”

His words knocked the air out of her lungs. She felt her mounting excitement drain away, replaced by humiliation, shame, then a hot, stubborn anger. Even through the haze of lust and wanting, his words cut away at her like a knife. After _he_ had run from her, _he_ had not returned to her, _he_ had ended their time together before she wanted it. And here she was again, offering a chance, offering what weak men would die for, and _he_ was accusing _her_ of… Her teeth snapped together in anger and her face twisted into a snarl as she wrenched her wrist from his grasp, and pressed her forearms into his chest, pushing away from him, drawing back to take her weight onto her own knees. She meant to glare, but found that she could not quite meet his eyes, so glared at his shoulder instead whilst she marshalled the words that threatened to spill off her tongue.

“Who is the plaything?” She hissed, after a moment, spitting the words into the ground. “Am I so fearsome that even the mighty Dorn Il-Khan cannot match me? Instead he would pull me into his bedroll then flee when it no longer suits his mood? Who has been toying with whom, Dorn?”

His eyebrows lifted briefly at her onslaught, then his expression smoothed over into neutrality. He searched her face without seeming to find what he was looking for, but he settled back onto his heels, seating himself facing her. After she spat her final word out at him, he paused for a long moment, then let out an impatient sound through his nose.

“I cannot fathom your moods, girl. What is it that you want from me? Speak plainly.”

“I-“ She had been more than ready to spit her venom back in his face, but something in his voice gave her pause. The aftershocks of his accusation still fluttered through her, but his voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and his face unusually soft. She glanced back up at him, then quickly glanced away, running her fingers through the dust on the floor as the other arm folded protectively across her belly.

“I believed you wanted me as I did you.” She muttered, eventually. There was a painful pause before she continued. “I swear on my life I was not aware of the possibility of the change. The way you looked at me…“ She trailed off, embarrassment and rejection making her nerves twang painfully raw. “I dislike being humiliated. And yet here I stand again.” Her lip curled in disgust as she wrapped her other arm across herself. “Forget this. Do not allow me to waste my time in pursuit of things I cannot have.”

A low rumble made her glance up, and she realised he was laughing, a low, rich chuckle which made hope uncurl a tendril in her belly. He rested his wrists on his knees, and his eyes locked on hers.

“Is that it? You fear I do not find you desirable.”

She went utterly still as she looked at him, faint puzzlement on her face, and the thin tendril of hope which curled through her chest brought her breath up short. His steady gaze locked her in place as her heart pounded in her chest – if she were ever to have been wrong about something (and she did not wish to concede that point just yet), but oh, _let_ it have been about this.

“My blood boils to look at you, god-child.” His voice was rough and deep, he held her pinned with his gaze. “I would throw you to the floor and have you right here and now if I believed you desired it.”

Her sudden movement caught him by surprise. In a flash, she had close the gap between them, flickering across the space with serpentine grace. Her hand snaked up to wrap in his hair, and in moments, she had slid roughly up against him, lips hovering inches above his own, chest against his, fierce gaze burning down onto his face. Her expression was flushed and raw as she searched his features for any trace of deception, any speck of illusion.

“Why would you believe otherwise?”

Had he not known her better, he might have believed he heard a plea in her voice. He shrugged, wrapping his arm around her waist. The other slid up her own arm to her shoulder, then trailed maddeningly slowly down her side, leaving tingling trails on her skin.

“I have never known another like you.” The roughness of his voice and his hands skimming over her skin made her eyelids flutter closed in pleasure. “I want you again, _here, now,_ in the midst of all this chaos.'

Her eyes seemed to glow in the half-light. Her fingers slid from his hair as she draped her arms around his shoulders. She leaned into him, shaking, half-dazed with desire; her breath was ragged as she whispered into his lips.

“Then take what you desire. _Ibo'a ol._ Claim me.”

The whispered pleading in her voice kindled something fierce in his chest. With a growl, he surged against her, pressing his lips to hers in a messy, open-mouthed kiss. She let out a wordless whimper of pleasure and wrapped herself around him. He pulled her roughly on top of his hard body as he lay back, and she relished the feeling of being so easily lifted and dragged. She bit hard into his lip, nails digging into the muscles of his neck and shoulders, and melted as he growled roughly into her mouth. His fingers followed the contours of her form, slipping under her sodden shirt to brush tauntingly over her abdomen. Boots were kicked off somewhere along the way, shirts were unlaced and tugged and pulled and suddenly she was able to _touch_ him, running her mouth down from his along the hollow of his throat to his shoulders as he slid rough nails down her sides, let out harsh breaths at her touch. She ran her tongue across his broad chest, tasting salt sweat, earth, and iron, riding on heated waves of desire as he let out a guttural groan. He lifted her higher as she fumbled urgently with lacings and buckles on his armour and breeches. She felt the warmth and the shifting of his body under hers, she knew he would be desperately, painfully hard and she _wanted_ that part of him, but he was teasing the bars through her nipples with lips and tongue, and the rippling pleasure of his mouth on her skin made her fingers clumsy and her head spin.

“Take them off.” She gasped out hoarsely, scrabbling ineffectually at ties and buckles just out of reach, dazed and desperate and driven to distraction.

He laughed, a low, rumbling chuckle, and pressed more kisses, more suckling bites to her chest, her neck, her jaw, swirling his tongue along sensitive elven ears until arousal shot through her and her breath came short and fast. She clung to him, weak in his grasp, entirely disarmed, frustrated and thick with need. A shift below her, and then, _Gods,_ then he was freed beneath her and she was burning with the desire to taste him, to pleasure him and let him brand her his own.

She slid down his body and took him into her mouth, palms trailing lines along his stomach and thighs, feeling the heat rush over her skin and through her belly as he groaned. She worked her mouth and hands over him, alternating between smooth speed, and long, deliciously slow strokes. The stud through her tongue added an edge to his pleasure as she swirled her it around the tip. He looked down to find her eyes on his face as she moved against him, and another wave of heat rippled through her as she felt the response of his body to the sight. Before she could help herself, her eyelids fluttered closed and she lost herself to the taste of him. Her palms and her nails wandered freely, finding the spots on his skin to make him shudder against her. She taunted and teased and stroked until his fist balled in her hair, worshipping his body with absolute devotion, but just as his hips arched into her, she pulled away, wrapping her fingers around him, denying him completion, another wave of desire shooting through her as he let out a strangled half-groan.

She slid back up his body, straddling him, gasping at the broadness of his form and the way her slim hips were forced to open and stretch across him. She ran her hands over his stomach and chest and revelling in the salt-earth scent of his skin, running her tongue up his neck and the shell of his ear, teeth grazing lightly at the tip. He growled in frustration and grabbed at her hips, forcing them down roughly to slide against his hard length. She let out a wordless cry of delight and arched up over him, grinding down onto him, breath ragged, rising and falling sharply as she moved against him. He looked up at her, back arched in pleasure, bare chest streaked with sweat and gore, lips parted, all mussed hair and glazed eyes as she rolled her hips, revelling in the feel of his hardness between her legs, and he could wait no longer.

With one practised twist she was on her belly, gasping at the shock of the cool flagstones under her. Moments later, his hands were planted on either side of her head as he settled his warm weight over her, biting hard at the back of her neck as she cried out. She went to turn under him, wanting to touch him, to reach for the secret places on his skin and hear the noises he made, but his forearm pressed into the back of her shoulders and pinned her there. Arm braced, the sense of his presence above her lessened and she whimpered, wanting and needing to feel him pressed against her, then gasped as she felt his other hand methodically working her leggings off her hips. She writhed under him, desperately trying to help him, but he pushed down harder on her neck and continued to move at a punishingly slow pace.

At last, she was bared before him, and he took a long moment whilst she keened in her throat to run his hands over the smooth, dark skin stretched out under him, the fall of white hair in disarray around her shoulders, her cheek pressed into the stone of the floor, her eyelids fluttering under his insistent caress as ripples of pleasure spread over her skin. She gasped as he slid a rough palm up the length of one thigh to the crux of her legs, teasing the wetness there and drawing more keening cries from her throat. She felt the strength of the hard body over hers, the power restraining her, pinning her down, and the painfully slow, insistent teasing of the fingers between her thighs, and she was ready, _so_ ready to be taken and claimed by him, to feel his power, to sink into it until it drowned her. The words slipped from her lips unbidden in a heated gasp.

 _“Qualla-“_ The end of the word was swallowed by a cry as he lowered himself down and settled between her thighs, slipping flush to her entrance. She bit hard into her own shoulder, stifling a whimper. He slid teasingly against her, pressed slick fingers to her lips, and she took them greedily into her mouth as he had done hers, running her tongue across his fingertips.

“Say it.” He bit into the back of her shoulder, wrapped fingers around her side and lifted her hips, pressing her against him in a possessive embrace.

“ _Xun ol, qualla…_ ” Her tone was pleading, desperate. “Please…”

With a growl he sheathed into her, hard, and her whole body bowed under him as he thrust against her in an urgent, furious rhythm. Her cries rose to fever pitch as he braced himself on one arm, his other hand sliding under her to tease her nipples, trace raised lines down her belly and brush down between her legs, building and amplifying her pleasure in counterpoint to his harsh thrusts. He felt her muscles fluttering around him as she pressed her forehead against his supporting arm, digging her fingers into his wrist with little gasps and moans, spurring him on to claim her and make her his own.

A wordless cry escaped her lips as he abruptly pulled out of her, then wrapped his hand around her thigh and hauled her under him, flipping her over onto her back before lifting her bodily to straddle him as he settled back onto his knees and filled her again almost instantly. Through her haze of pleasure, she registered his hooded eyes, the roughness of his palms on her back and her rear, urging her down onto him as he sheathed up into her. He ran his tongue across her chest, teasing her nipple, pulling a drawn-out groan from her. He seemed fascinated by the taste of the sweat and the gore on her skin, even as he moved against her in a slow, hard rhythm, which slid the core of her against him over and over until she could do nothing but hang in his grasp.

She knew he was close when another low groan rumbled through his chest and he grasped at her hips, forcing her down hard, and catching her mouth with his as she moaned into it. She trembled against him, undone by his insistent rough caresses on her skin and falling apart in his arms. Their rhythm rose higher, faster, until she clasped his face between her palms and pressed her forehead to his, crying out as she crested over the peak and tensed, tightening around him and shuddering through a powerful climax. Dimly, she felt him tense and arch into her with an inarticulate snarl, fillng her with his seed and riding through his last, slow, thrusts.

He moved against her once, twice more as they sat locked together, riding out the waves of tingling pleasure, then she slowly slumped against him as the sensation ebbed and the world came back into focus. His breath rushed out in a hard sigh as he rested his head against her shoulder, pressing her hips almost gently into his stomach. They sat there for a moment, basking in the afterglow and utterly sated, until he relaxed with another sigh, lifting her off him before settling back against the flank of the dead dragon, puling her across his lap.

She ran her fingers idly over his face, tracing the lines of his often-broken nose, the crooked lilt of his lips, the hard line of his jaw. She touched her finger to the tip of one tusk and an airy chuckle bubbled out of her throat at the ridiculousness of the action. He huffed out a breath, as he slid down prone with her beside him, but didn’t seem displeased.

“You are insane.” He muttered, lips against her forhead.

“Is that a compliment?” She kissed his chin, and pressed more kisses to the line of his jaw.

“A fact. “ He responded, and she gave a pleased sigh as he slipped an arm around her waist and drew her body against his. Rough fingertips drew circles on her hip and she shivered at his touch. “You are unstable, reckless, madder than Cyric, and utterly,” He pressed a harsh kiss, all lips and teeth, to the side of her neck and she gasped as her eyes fluttered closed and heat spread through her chest. “Utterly,” More rough, bruising kisses, and his teeth in her earlobe. “Desirable.” She whimpered with pleasure as he ran his tongue up the length of her ear to the tip, trembling against his chest, and his wicked grin lit fierce pride in her, even through the scattering of her thoughts at his insistent caresses.

She clung to him for a moment as the pleasure faded, replaced by utter satiation, sighing against his chest as he watched her. When she looked up, he was gazing down at her, idly tracing nonsense patterns on her hip, and the strength of his body, the profile of his face lit another burst of fierce pride in her belly. She pulled herself up until she could look into his eyes, studying them with something approaching reverence, touching her forehead and the tip of her nose to his, taking his face in her palms, mapping the contours of lips and chin and cheekbones and eyelids with her mouth.

“You are _mine_ , Dorn Il-Khan.” She murmured, pressing her lips to his with an intense, possessive sweetness that stole his breath. “Mine, and mine alone.”

“My reckless goddess.” His voice was a raw, harsh murmur. His teeth caught her lip and she melted against him with a sigh that was almost a prayer. “Until death, and beyond.”


End file.
